


She's Always Bad News

by periwinklepromise



Series: Femslash February 2020 [25]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February 2020, Getting Together, Mild Language, Pining, Prep!Cirilla, Punk!Renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22900774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periwinklepromise/pseuds/periwinklepromise
Summary: Everybody knows Renfri is bad news
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Renfri | Shrike, Renfri | Shrike & Renfri's Band
Series: Femslash February 2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619608
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	1. Swirling Spheres

**Author's Note:**

> I found out Renfri is only 18 when she dies and decided that meant a high school AU for these two.

Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon strode across the courtyard, and five different people all shouted hello to her. Freaking pathetic, the lot of them. Little Miss Princess Cirilla had it all – more money than God, more popularity than a Top 40s station, the shiny new Mustang, the perfect golden hair and the perfect rose gold Apple products and the perfect vapid smile that meant absolutely nothing because she gave the same smile to everyone. She used to have the perfect boyfriend too, but Dara graduated this past spring to go to some fancy art school, and they broke up over the summer. It ended okay, if the rumors were to be believed.

Renfri didn't believe in rumors. But she did listen to them. Just in case.

“Renfri!” Nimir snapped at her. “Stop staring at your crush, and start telling Nohorn he's an idiot!”

“Nohorn, you're an idiot,” Renfri parroted back immediately, staring at Cirilla for just another second before swiveling back to the group and plopping her ass back down on the asphalt. “What'd he do this time?”

“Nothing!” Nohorn insisted from behind his own hands.

“He hit on Marilka!” Civril laughed, but he seemed mostly focused on balancing a mechanical pencil on his finger.

“Marilka from the softball team?” Renfri checked.

“She killed her dog, dude, she's totally crazy!” Fifteen insisted.

“That hasn't been substantiated,” Renfri cut in quickly. Marilka had certainly brought a knife to school and threatened a girl with it, that was true, but the dog rumors had started shortly afterwards. Highly questionable given the context.

“Stop talking AP, and help the man,” Vyr tried to get everyone back on the same track as he and his twin. “This is the single stupidest thing he has ever done!”

“Oh, I don't know,” she argued, electing to ignore the AP barb, “There was that time he drank three-week expired milk so you'd buy him pizza and then he was too sick to enjoy it.”

“You're not helping,” Nohorn told her.

“Who said I was trying to help?” she shot back.

They ignored the warning bell, and then the normal bell. But school had started two weeks ago, and Fifteen already had detention for a week for all the tardies he'd racked up, so they had to get going before the late one rang.

Renfri had used to take advanced classes, but all the homework wasn't worth it, so she'd switched to all regulars for senior year with some weird electives. More free time, super easy As, plus she got to hang out with the band during half of her classes.

Not that they actually had any gigs. But they rehearsed sometimes in Nohorn's parent's workshop-slash-garage that also doubled as Renfri's bedroom most nights. The futon wasn't half bad, and Nohorn's dog Tygrysek slept with her so she didn't freeze.

It wasn't the best life. But it was just one more year, and then they could all get a place together, maybe in Aedirn. Bring the dog. Learn how to cook. Renfri was pretty sure she could be a lot of things, if anyone would give her a chance.


	2. The Power That Lies

“Renfri? Did you have something you would like to share with the class?” her condescending history teacher asked, stepping close to her desk to stare down at her.

She had made one snarky remark under her breath from the back of the class, it wasn't like she'd been disrupting anything. Dickwad.

She shot a glance at Tavik, and he didn't seem to be against the idea, so she leaned back in her chair and smirked. “Yeah, I have a question. By 'offering an armistice' do you mean destroying a people and their homeland? Because the elves didn't decide to _leave their home_ ,” she mocked, what a _disgusting_ euphemism, she thought, what were they _teaching_ kids nowadays, “Out of the goodness of their hearts to make more space for the rest of us, we slaughtered them. Then we razed all of their accomplishments to the ground and cheered ourselves on by saying they never did anything to deserve this place.”

There was a beat of silence where she got to appreciate the terrifying shade of red Mr Stregobor's face had become before he pouted like an angry toddler and ordered her to the principal's office.

The best part about taking regular classes was that most days she didn't even bother carrying around any binders. She carried around a cheap ballpoint pen and a bottle of white correction fluid, and that was about it in the way of school supplies. So she stood up, straightened out her favorite denim vest, and nodded at Tavik. “See ya, T.”

It was a short walk to the main office, and of freaking course Little Miss Princess was in there. Behind the front desk, for some reason. Messing with papers. Cirilla had to be like, the biggest teacher's pet ever.

“Ms Creyden?” the head secretary said with a heavy sigh, pushing her papers aside like she was gearing up for the worst already. But hey, Renfri made it a whole week before getting into any trouble, this was a great start for senior year. “What is this visit regarding?”

“Mr Stregobor tried to lie to us about genocide, and I very kindly and courteously corrected that evil bullshit.”

“Language, Ms Creyden,” she reminded her.

“Sorry,” she amended easily, “His evil bull-nonsense.”

“And how did Mr Stregobor respond to this kind, courteous correction?”

“He sent me to come see you,” she smiled sunnily at the secretary, reaching over to play with the little cup of pens taped to cheap plastic flowers.

Her hands got swatted away quickly. “You can have a seat. I'll let Mr Tauler know you're here.”

She gave a lopsided curtsy that would make her stepmother cringe and feigned a simpering, “Thank you kindly.” The hard plastic seats all creaked when she sat down, and then she kinda wished she had brought a notebook just to mess with the spiral while she waited. All she could do was play with the long end of her bob and stare at Cirilla.

She was wearing all light brown, a shiny tight vest over a high-collared button-up all decorated with tiny pink and gold flowers. Golden hair all done up in loose curls. Touch of some sorta gloss on her lips. She looked … Renfri cleared her throat and squeaked her boots against the floor, leaving a rough black mark on the linoleum. Renfri couldn't see if she was wearing pants or a skirt, but she was gonna bet a skirt. Probably just past the knees, pleated, the sorta thing that would be seen as flirty but never slutty. Rumor was Cirilla was still as pure as fresh-fallen snow, which of course meant half the men in school wanted to dirty her up; they all learned not to talk about that shit in front of Renfri, not if they wanted their fingers intact. _Morons_. Didn't matter they weren't friends anymore, Renfri would still kill for Cirilla, and they needed to damn well remember that.

But … it would have been nice. If they were still friends.

Not that she needed anyone, anyway. She had her band, and they were awesome, and she didn't need anyone else. She was a senior now, sophomore shit didn't matter anymore.

Mr Tauler appeared in front of her, looking pissed off but not surprised. “Alright, Ms Creyden. What have you done now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't forgotten about this story! As I wrote in another endnote - 
> 
> Like many across the world, the health crisis has had an impact on my life and thus my writing. While I am not retiring any of my WIPs, I am not working on them as often as I'd like. Please be patient, and be safe!


	3. On The Horizon Of Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renfri gets a surprise

**FUCK THE VOTE**

_NO ONE CARES_

_**THE HOMECOMING COMMITTEE IS NOT BEHOLDEN TO THE STUDENT BODY** _

“Renfri, what the hell?” Fifteen asked. “You're gonna waste all the chalk. I thought we were keeping this stuff short.”

“I am being specific,” she retorted. “And I am _right_.”

“What does it even mean?” Nimir loomed over her shoulder as she scrawled the rest of her sentence: _**AND WILL ACT IN ITS OWN INTERESTS**_

“It means voting is a scam. Everyone knows the popular kids get their friends on the committee to decide and then rig the results, but all the losers who don't give a damn suddenly pretend to care about school pride and voting for the court during Homeroom.”

They were being proactive this year, by starting a counter campaign before the cheesy signs could start popping up everywhere. It wouldn't change the results at all, of course, but if they could sway popular opinion, it would at least feel hollow to the losers who liked that shit. There was a rumor going around that the preps were trying to bring back the Homecoming Dance, and the band had quickly decided that was dumb and a total waste of money. The fire exit on the second floor stairwell was still nailed shut, but an extra dance was in the school budget? Total bullshit.

Nimir grunted. “I just pretend to care so I can go to all the pep rallies instead of classes.”

She waved her chalk at him over her shoulder, half disapproving, half joking. “This is why you are part of the problem.” She turned back to the sidewalk. “And pep rallies suck.” Hot and crowded, with lots of stupid speeches, and a row of blonde girls performing the same cheers every year, getting cat-called every year and having to smile through it. She wanted to track down every heckler and beat them tho a pulp; she generally just chucked pens or crumpled up pieces of paper. There were easier ways to hear the marching band. Like hanging out on the Hill during home games. Or doing anything but sitting through a loud, sweaty pep rally to support horrible people and their horrible friends.

She used to do that shit. Wore the push-up bras and the tight clothes, laughed at the stupid shit guys said, laughed at the mean shit the other girls said. She went to the pep rallies and cheered for … whatever people cheer for at pep rallies; even as a freshman, she hadn't been sure.

“Princess Alert,” muttered Fifteen.

Renfri locked her gaze on the sidewalk so she wouldn't get whiplash looking for her. The guys were always pretending to see Cirilla just to see Renfri look like a dog hunting for a squirrel. She was tired of getting played like that.

“Renfri?”

She jolted, looking up to icy eyes. “Uh,” she said, clearly demonstrating her superior intellect and ability to remain calm under pressure. “Hi.”

“Hi. I know it's been a while, but …” That was an understatement if there had ever been one, but Renfri was frankly still tongue-tied. Cirilla pushed a pink envelope into her face and held it there until she was able to accept it. “I have this for you,” she was saying. “I would love it if you can make it. And the rest of you guys too,” Cirilla quickly added to the rest of the group. “See you, Renfri.”

She watched her walk away. She was wearing lavender. It looked rather nice with her hair.

“Uh, Renfri?”

“Come on, Renfri, feet back on the ground.”

“What is it, anyway?”

“Give it back, asshole!” She tore it away from Tavik and smoothed over the edges. The pale pink envelope was the smaller size used for greeting cards, embossed with vines, with her name written in Cirilla's careful cursive, and the back displayed a creme wax seal stamped with the form of a sparrow.

Renfri was a little surprised by the bird, but she supposed the Riannon Lion would not be so fitting on such a pretty package.

She teased it open and slid out the delicate paper. An invitation. Printed with some sort of glossy ink.

“What is it? What is it?” The guys clamored around her.

“She's having a party,” she mumbled, still in shock. “And we're invited.”

_**You Are Cordially Invited** _

_**To a gathering of Continental Upperclassmen** _

_**At the Riannon Estate** _

_**9pm on Friday the 4 th** _

_**Party favors provided** _

_**Rooms available upon request** _

At the bottom of the page, Cirilla had written _Please Come?_ and her phone number.

Renfri passed around the invite, but she kept the envelope, slowly rubbing her thumb against the rounded edge of wax.

“What the hell?” Tavik started. The other guys echoed it.

Renfri was wondering the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In high school, I once received a party invite from a rich girl that did actually read "rooms available upon request" and I was just like?????? Rich people really do it better, yk?


	4. A Steel And Silver Burning Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to party!

She hadn't wanted to go to the party. Not really.

But Nohorn had asked Marilka if she was going two days before, and she was, and she agreed to actually meet up with him there, so the band agreed to go for moral support. And yeah, to make fun of every moronic move he was sure to make. And hey, free booze!

So what was the worst that could happen, really? She'd been invited, so they couldn't get thrown out. Well, the cops could come, but the Riannon Estate was fancy as all hell, so it wasn't like anybody would actually get busted.

So Renfri had nicked some of Nohorn's mom's good conditioner so her hair would look passable, even if her bob was still uneven - cutting her own hair with a pair of kitchen scissors had been harder than it looked. She had also used a disposable razor to shave her legs to show off her fishnets. She didn't normally bother, but hey, it was a party! She should dress up! And if she also stowed away three different knives on her person – a simple pocketknife tucked into her left Doc, one butterfly knife in her left back pocket, the other in the inside pocket of her denim vest – well then, that was no one's business.

She took another minute in front of the mirror in the mudroom. Her shorts were pretty ragged, but they were short enough to count as cute. She had decided to wear her maroon tee for their band and her good denim vest with all the patches. Not super cute, but she wasn't looking to impress anyone.

Not really.

Fifteen managed to find someone with a van to give them a ride over, and they got dropped off at the beginning of the driveway to the Riannon Estate an hour and a half after the party start-time, against Nohorn's complaints he might miss Marilka arriving so late. They convinced him that they shouldn't show up looking like dorks, but he was a mess of nerves the entire ride over.

Renfri was too, but for different reasons. She had once lived in this sprawling excuse for a neighborhood, massive estates separated by rolling greens and horse pastures. Her stepmother had made the place unlivable, but technically the Creyden Estate was still her home, and it was close enough. She would probably let the band crash there after the party, if they didn't all pass out in the Riannon gardens.

The guys were all for it, but this party was like any other party. They shoved their way through the masses – Cirilla had invited half the damn school – into the kitchen to get themselves some drinks. The twins went straight for whiskey, but the rest of the guys started off at the kegs. Renfri couldn't stand beer anymore, so she grabbed the first bottle of vodka she found and started filling her water bottle. She always got shit for it at parties, but she wanted something with an actual lid she could close. She didn't like alcohol the way the rest of the kids did, but she didn't want to be completely sober either.

There were not just jocks and preps at this party, though there were plenty in attendance, she noted when she walked out to the deck. Renfri saw band geeks and anime freaks and frankly, more burn-outs than she expected to be allowed into the home of Little Miss Princess Cirilla.

“Did you hear?” Tavik slipped up behind her, breath hot and smelling horribly. She refrained from elbowing him in the face, but only barely. “This is the Princess's _campaign rally_. She wants to be Homecoming Queen.”

“Oh, yuck,” she said with the requisite eyeroll. It seemed like something Cirilla would do, though. She was kind to everyone, loved to be popular, and would love the excuse to buy a new gown. Renfri looked around for her then – that was allowed, right, she was the topic of conversation now – but couldn't find her. She knew Cirilla was wearing blue, she wore a lot of blue, but there were too many people in the downstairs living room.

Renfri interrupted Vyr's story about … something funny that had happened, apparently, to excuse herself, moving away without checking to see whatever looks she was getting from the guys; she didn't want to know. But hey, Cirilla invited them, and the least Renfri could do was let her campaign to her face for as long as possible. And maybe compliment her outfit, and the way that bright blue was sure to make her eyes shine like stars, and the way she always seemed to actually care about the stuff people told her.

But hey, that was totally casual. She was casual, she assured herself while straightening her shirt to make sure Black Sun was right across her boobs, and fussing over her vest collar.

She asked some prep about Cirilla, who said she'd seen their host go upstairs a few minutes ago to show someone a room, before realizing it was Renfri asking and turning away. Whatever.

She traipsed upstairs, after Cirilla hopefully, only tripping a little. She checked her bottle, but she'd only had a couple of shots worth so far. That meant she was capable of articulate speech still, as long as she didn't get too nervous.

A voice came from just past the stairwell. “Stop it, let me go!”

Fear. Party. Girl. _Ciri_.


	5. Blood Upon Her Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renfri's skillset does not include resolving these things peacefully

She was sweeping forward before she could think anything else, tearing the man from his assault, forcing him back against the opposite wall. Swinging her knife open. Sticking it straight through his hand and into the wood.

He yelled and swung, but he was in too much pain, had too much panic in his blood to connect.

She flipped open another blade and pressed it to his throat. He froze for a moment, before bursting into tears. Renfri fought back her disgust and tried to beat back that fiery place inside her where the only thing that mattered was vengeance.

“You are not going to attempt this reprehensible behavior with anyone else, _ever_ again, agreed?”

He was crying while he nodded.

“I want to hear you say you agree,” she prodded him, pressing the blade a touch closer. A little more pressure would draw blood, she knew. With fear in his eyes like this, he looked so similar to the boy who had held her down sophomore year, the first boy to be kissed by her knife a month later when she plucked up enough nerve.

“Agreed, I agree, oh god,” he sobbed.

That was all Renfri needed. She let him go.

He scrambled away, running into the wall near the stairwell and clutching his wounded hand to his chest as he barreled down the stairs and scared some other partygoers. But he had learned his lesson; he would not force himself on anyone, ever again.

Then she remembered Ciri. Who was still standing there. Who had seen everything.

She was calm, to her credit, except for her eyes still shining in fear. Dara had always protected her, but he wasn't here anymore.

Renfri was, though.

But this was not the time for that conversation. So she shrugged, put away her knives, and played it cool. “It's alright, I'll show you how to clean blood off the wallpaper.”

“It's not wallpaper. It's paint,” Cirilla corrected faintly.

“Paint?” she exclaimed, inspecting the wall more closely. “You mean your grandparents paid someone to add this monstrosity by hand?” Motherfucker, she was right. The florid, totally nauseating pattern was handpainted. She huffed. That would take longer, but it was still doable. She picked at a swirl with her fingernail in distaste. “Fine, I know how to get blood off of paint, too.”

“Monstro-” she cut herself off, gaining steam. “That's not the issue! You put a knife through a man's hand!”

“And you should thank me,” Renfri retorted coolly, turning back to face her. “He would have raped you and left for nothing.” And if Cirilla said anything about it, all her so-called friends would drop her, just like they dropped Renfri when she was stupid enough to speak out.

“I should have known better than to invite you.” Cirilla's lips were quivering, and her fists were clenched at her sides. “I'm surprised you haven't butchered every man in this house.”

Renfri's blood boiled, and she bit out, “The night is young, maybe the Black Sun will rise in time.” Then she stormed away, to get some air, and maybe to see if Nohorn or Civril were still around.


	6. A Storm Raging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renfri talks it out

Renfri wanted to punch a wall, but she was a guest in this house, and Cirilla was gonna have to explain enough as it was. She settled for kicking at some rose bushes as she crossed the back patio.

It felt good.

She kicked at them some more.

“Whoa, dude, chill,” some asshole told her. When she whirled on him, he backed right off, but he must've made some noise about it, because Civril found her a minute later while she was pondering stabbing the fence. Repeatedly.

“Sit down.”

She huffed and did as he said. When Civril had something to say, he was gonna say it, whether Renfri wanted him to or not.

“What happened?”

“Some fucker tried to force himself on Ciri,” she told him, ripping out some of the grass under her hands and throwing it a few feet away. That felt good too, so she did another handful.

He was still calm, somehow. “You stopped it?”

“Of course I fucking stopped it. What, did you think I was just going to let somebody-” she choked off, and her eyes were stinging for some stupid reason. Let somebody hurt Ciri the same way she had let somebody hurt her, sophomore year. The band said it wasn't like that, but it was. She had let it happen. She had been stupid, too trusting, an innocent airhead like Little Miss Princess Cirilla who believed everyone was basically kind and would never want to hurt her. Even with her stupid stepmother, Renfri had believed she was safe from everyone else.

She'd been wrong. And she'd paid for it.

“How'd you leave it?”

With her blood pounding as it was, she couldn't blush, but she almost wanted to when she admitted, “With his blood running down the wall.”

“You just left it there? That's cold, man.”

He was right, but she was not going to cave so easily. “Oh, fuck off, Civ. She called me a butcher.”

He nodded, in that sarcastic solemn way of his that always fooled the teachers. “And you were going for florist, I understand, very insulting.” She leveled him with a look to let him know just how unimpressive he was. “Renfri, she's not like us. She's not used to knives, she's not used to rapists, and she's definitely not used to fighting back. And you know that. So why are you actually pissed?”

She squirmed. Civril saw too much. It made him a great lookout for their extralegal activities, but a very annoying friend when she'd rather run from her problems. “She said she regretted inviting me.”

He nodded and concluded, “And you decided to take it out on some innocent plant life.”

She shoved at his shoulder, and he rocked with the motion easily. “Like a good florist,” she retorted.


	7. The Red Sky At Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renfri hates when Civril is right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic back in February, and I referred to it as my "punk/prep au", not just a high school au. And it was very important to me that Renfri be an actual punk, not just someone who looked the part. Punk is necessarily political. Because of this, I pictured this chapter and the first chapter right away, back in February. The rest of the fic came later.
> 
> This note is to say I'm not "cashing in" on current protests. This chapter was sketched before the resurgence of BLM protests, a movement I fully support. I just wanted to let everyone know, because it comes across as kinda corny if you don't know.

“What,” Renfri heard from the stairwell, “What are you doing?”

She considered looking up, but decided against it. She couldn't tell if Cirilla was still mad or not. “A paint test,” she supplied, pretending to study the wall some more, “To make sure I don't strip off the paint when I go for the blood.” She flicked her eyes over but didn't get a good look at her expression. “Figured your grandparents wouldn't notice so easily if I screw it up down here instead of right in the middle of their wall. Though you know,” she added with disgust, “They'd probably take kinder to stripped paint than that monster's blood. Wouldn't want that in my house, at least.”

A can of sparkling water – one of those flavored ones that never actually tasted like anything – was placed down next to her bottle of detergent. Slim fingers ran along the rim. She was nervous.

“Thank you.”

Renfri shrugged and dabbed at the wall some more. “Eh, it's my fault the blood's there. Figured you wouldn't want to explain it to your folks.”

“No, I meant. For earlier.”

“Hey, girl, any time, anywhere, call me and I'll kill a man for ya.” She did a last poke at the paint, shining a pen flashlight over the spot. No discoloration, so it should be safe enough to use. “And I'll even clean up after. Should be ready. Wanna watch?”

“Um,” Ciri responded slowly. Renfri couldn't tell if she was nervous or just surprised. “Sure.”

“Here, you can help,” she said, foisting off the paper towels she had nicked from the kitchen. “Hold these.”

She instructed Ciri to hand her a half sheet at a time, alternating wet or dry. There had not been much blood, and it had dried quickly while she was gone. A shame. Blood should really be cleaned up as soon as it was spilled, she knew. It meant she would have to use more chemicals, but it was also less likely to smear now. Small favors, she supposed.

“This is mostly just water,” she said to fill the silence. “With a little bit of dish detergent I got from your kitchen.”

Ciri looked doubtfully at the other containers. “And the rest?”

“Some baking soda, some hydrogen peroxide. To be used separately,” she added quickly. There were a couple of others too, if she got desperate, but she really did not want to have to repaint this garish display. “In case the water doesn't work. But water is way more useful than people think. Like at protests, if you ever went to any. When you get gassed-”

“Gassed? What have you been doing?!” She sounded shocked, poor thing. Like she hadn't even heard of any of the abuses the rest of the city faced. Out here on a massive estate, it was probably far easier to ignore.

But Renfri couldn't. And she didn't want to ignore it, either. “Rule number one about protests is no bragging, and no specifics. But when bad shit happens, someone's gotta stop it. And I'm willing to try. So yeah, I've had riot cops send out gas to disperse the crowd. And when they do, you can use water to help get the irritants out of your eyes and off your face. In most bad situations – unless there's an alcohol fire – water's probably your best friend.” She was rambling, she knew. She was no better than Nohorn with Marilka in the room. But Ciri had a bad habit of following along with what anyone said, so Renfri needed to be specific, just in case Ciri ever did find herself in a similar situation.

She turned back to the wall. Most of

“Alcohol fire?” Ciri tested the words, sounding a little nervous. There was a great deal of alcohol in her house, to be fair. Or maybe it was just the idea of riot cops.

“Instead of wood or synthetics or whatever. You have a campfire, you can just pour water on it. But if alcohol got lit on fire, the water would just spread it around. You have to smother an alcohol fire. Oil too,” she added as an afterthought. Most people probably dealt with oil fires more than alcohol ones. The twins were just idiots sometimes, but it made for interesting experiences.

Ciri looked at her then, hard enough that Renfri stopped dabbing at the remaining blood on the wall. “Why do you... you know, do all this stuff?”

“Once I opened my eyes to _all this stuff_ and started paying attention, started caring about it, I...” she sighed, shaking her head. “I just don't how to stop. I _won't_ stop, until the world is a better place. That's what being a punk is all about. Fighting for something better.” She started piling up all the supplies she'd swiped from a cleaning closet. It had taken some time to find, and she'd run into about a dozen couples making out in random rooms before finding the right door, but at least Cirilla would be able to help her put them away. “And yeah, if I have to bust in some heads of some nationalists to do it, then great! They deserve it.”

Renfri stood and held out a hand to Ciri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter! Will be posted next week :)


	8. Epilogue: If This Is The Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is ... back to normal?

She showed up to school early the next Monday. She said it was because she wanted to add more chalk notices, but the band must have noticed that she stopped after adding only one and a half new phrases. Now she was just on lookout.

The weekend had not been a bust for anyone. Nohorn and Marilka were officially going out, Nimir and Vyr were scarred for life over it, and Fifteen hadn't gotten into a single stupid brawl over some other guy's girl just for the sake of fighting.

“Princess Alert,” Tavik said with a grin.

Renfri shot to her feet. And then all her blood rushed to her cheeks.

But it didn't matter, because Ciri spotted her, smiled, and strode over. “Hey.”

Right, that was a good opener. “Hey,” she said back. She thought she just sounded stupid, but Ciri was still smiling.

Ciri took her hand, and Renfri promptly lost feeling in all of her fingers. “I was wondering if you wanted to get slushes after school today?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yes! That sounds … great.” Renfri was known for lots of things, mostly violence and her detention record. Being _smooth_ certainly wasn't on the list.

“Great! Meet me at my car after seventh?”

Was this a date? It sounded like a date. Renfri had to blink a lot before answering, “Okay.”

Ciri leaned in close and kissed her cheek. She smelled like warm brown sugar, and her lipgloss was sticky on Renfri's cheek.

She did not wipe it away when Ciri moved back.

“I know you don't really date. But I'd love it if you gave me a chance.”

Renfri smiled brightly. “Okay.” She would give this a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
